


Electric dawn

by laughingpineapple



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, new timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: In this world, with no young sister alone at home and no sadness of her own to curb, it turns out there is no need for Lynne to get a dog. It has to be a team effort, then, one last spark blessed from afar.





	Electric dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haemat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemat/gifts).



It has taken them so long to make it here and they still do not know what to expect. 

 

Jowd has known this day from his far-off memories, a phone call ten years in his past to this day, and has spent long nights unravelling the right date from memories of other talks with Lynne, other distant celebrations that did not concern him. Cabanela, long since briefed on the other future, has gone through the list of her acquaintances, waiting for a sign of how a lonely young lady barely out of high school could have afforded a fancy, expensive breed, found a trail and went from there. Sissel has thought and thought about what they could expect, if their friend would remember them, or if he could or could not reach out to his soul and speak.

 

So they - being Jowd, Cabanela and Sissel's spirit hitching a ride in a teddy bear-shaped keychain - stand in front of a litter of six Pomeranians barely puffed up by their first tentative fur, playing, napping, tottering around as puppies do. All of them look fluffy and lively, all perfect, as puppies do.

 

“Missile?” calls Jowd, but gets no answer. He expected something of a reaction, to be honest - Kamila's protector wouldn't just let his sins slide, would he. Being growled at or even bitten would have been a fair price to pay for finally identifying the last remaining member of their family, but he will have to come to terms with the fact that a bunch of puppies is more forgiving than it would have any right to.

Cabanela paces unevenly. He was sure he would know. Just know. Enter the room and point at their little champion. He is still sure that he would have been able to tell him apart if the memories of that night hadn't been taken from him - a few minutes’ worth of an impression left eight years ago in his linear time would have been enough to recognize that fierce burning spirit anywhere. But that is not his story, and he has had a long time to make his peace with it. Is Missile the loudest of this bunch, the biggest, the one with the fluffiest tail? He cannot say. “Missile, baby, you theeere?” How much would it cost to get them all, anyway? Six dogs is better than one, surely?

They only knew each other for a night, a lifetime and eight years ago. Sissel wouldn't recognize their most valiant companion even if he were standing in front of him looking like he did on that day, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop at anything short of the impossible to find him again (and even the impossible would be worth a shot: Missile taught him well). 

So Sissel reaches out. 

 

Death has no right to be in this room. Sissel feels compelled to tiptoe around from core to core, careful not to brush his ghostly paws against the puppies and leave them to their simple bliss. But there in the far corner of the pen, belonging to the sleepiest fellow who hasn't even gotten up to greet the visitors, he sees it: a core of the dead, glowing warm and bright as a beacon.

“Missile…!” He purrs, getting close to the puppy's soul in the spiritual equivalent of a playful headbutt. “Missile. We came for you.”

The spirit yawns. Its shape is fuzzy, incapable of settling on a single shape and age. “Sissel!”

“Yes. We found you. We're taking you home, to Lynne.”

“Oh, I knew you would!” Missile yawns again. “That's why I haven't broken out of here to find you, you see. It's all so confusing…”

 

Outside their little world, on Sissel's signal, Jowd tells the breeder that they want that one, yes the sleepy one in the back, he can tell the little guy is just saving up on energy, no need to reassure them that he's going to make for a fine companion. They can go home. They can all go home.

 

Sissel lets him talk, letting the newborn pup sort out his old soul on his own terms. In excited yaps punctuated by quick spiritual naps, Missile tells him that there are thoughts and shapes all twirling inside his head, like they're too big and Missile tries to run back to where they start but all he manages is to stomp his nose against a fence. His brothers and sisters don't have those, he thinks. Sometimes it's obvious why he is different, but then sometimes he's back to being confused, it feels like chasing one's tail, surely Sissel can relate? (Not when it comes to the tail-chasing, no, but he was a kitten once and then suddenly no more, and that's close enough.) 

And he would have come to look for them, he really would have, Sissel! He would've made those little legs work like they're meant to, dug a hole and run to Lynne's place, he knows where that is, sometimes. But he saw a lamp - maybe it was yesterday, maybe earlier, maybe in dreams - he's meant to know who it is but he can't recall, it's all too big and he can't recall. 

He thinks it was a dream anyway, because he went to sniff it and the only smell was his own, but he'd never been to that place, that junkyard, he knew where it was but he'd never been there. There were no other smells, the whole place was his. It was night, a very long night, his mistresses slept in their beds far away and he could not go back to them. He wondered how he could protect them, even from afar with his paws now stuck to the cold concrete. And then the lamp shed a warm light on him and spoke with a dog's voice, and told him that he did well, he was a good boy, and it had been so long and he could rest - that  _ they _ could rest, it may have said, but nobody else was there. He said their bonds were strong, not forgotten, and everything would be alright if Missile just waited. The lamp's light faded with a sigh and there was no moon and it all felt dark and strained and heavy, like after a long, long run…

 

“And you were right. Thank you, Missile. For the last time.”

“But I didn't do anything!”

“Tell it to the lamp, then, if you see it again. Or when you remember.” 

They have time.


End file.
